


You Can Always Change Yourself

by tb_ll57



Series: Nor Perish and Decay [2]
Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Ambiguous Relationships, Blink And You Miss It Slash, Gap Filler, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-12
Updated: 2014-08-12
Packaged: 2018-02-12 19:13:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2121492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tb_ll57/pseuds/tb_ll57
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's a lot harder to change other people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Always Change Yourself

'I’m just saying, I have some sympathy for the hardship of genius. You can write a hundred books and never put anything of yourself in them. But to write from your own worst fears and heart-aches—that takes something rare and even awful.'

'Old man, you are not going to convince me that George Lucas is a brilliant mastermind.'

'It’s classic mythology! Son confronting father, father confronting emperor, the very stuff of the universe bound inextricably with the sins of the past!'

'Star Wars,' MacLeod muttered, and dropped backwards onto his couch with a satisfying woosh of escaping air. 'I ask your opinion on the greatest twentieth century literature, and you give me Star Wars.'

'Yeah, me and millions of fans, that’s who,' Methos answered smugly.

'Joe, smack some sense into him.'

'Don’t look at me, Mac.' Joe grinned at both of them from where he relaxed with a coffee on MacLeod’s sofa-chair. As usual, he seemed to find their bickering amusing. Duncan had an unexpected vision of the three of them in twenty years, positions exactly the same—- Methos making a mess in the kitchen without actually producing anything, MacLeod unable to sit still while the other Immortal needled him without mercy, and Joe, older and greyer, watching with that half-grin still firmly in place.

'You tutored Byron himself and all you can give me now is Lucas,' Duncan accused.

The name Byron hung there for a moment. All three of them hesitated. It wasn’t a name that came up often—- ever, if any of them could help it. Duncan wished suddenly and regretfully that he’d kept his mouth shut.

Then Methos turned, and crossed his arms firmly over this tee-shirted chest. 'I’ll have you know that Byron adored _Return of the Jedi._ He waited in line no less than fourteen times in the opening week.'

'Fourteen times?' Mac repeated.

'Waited in line?' said Joe.

'That’s right. So if Star Wars is good enough for Byron, it’s good enough for a second-rate writer like me, and it ought damn well be good enough for an illiterate Scot like you.'

Duncan bypassed most that declaration and went for what seemed to be an interesting nugget. 'You were a writer?'

It took Methos a moment to switch gears. 'What? Oh. Yeah. Sort of. I had a brief window of talent.'

'Anyone I know?'

Methos waved a hand and began a trek for the couch, leaving behind a mess of pans and thawing food on the kitchen counter without so much as a backward glance. 'I doubt you’d know the name. I was rather obscure.'

'I’ll have you know that I’m _very_ well-read!'

Joe began to laugh.

The barge rocked slightly in the wake of a passing tourist boat, and settled quickly. Methos sprawled into his favourite corner of the couch, planted his trainers on the coffee table, and adjusted a pillow behind his head. Duncan glared at him, waiting—- and waiting, until it became clear that Methos considered the conversation closed.

'Can you ever just tell me a story?' Duncan demanded.

The old Immortal stared at him in open-mouthed surprise. '"Tell you a story?"' he repeated, his voice nearing an upper register. '"Tell you a story?" What is this, bedtime? Come on, I’ll tuck you in and get you a glass of hot milk. Good lord, Mac.'

Joe had been suffering the giggles for at least three minutes now. A burst of them escaped his hold, and Duncan swiveled to glare at him, too. 'Don’t tell me you’re not curious, Mr Watcher.'

'I’m not his Watcher,' Joe pointed out. He adopted an insincere look of thoughtfulness. 'I suppose I could pass it on to Amy.'

Methos came bolt upright. 'Amy. As in Amy Thomas?'

Joe wore the smug look, now. 'That’s right, my clever friend. They found the one mortal who’s more stubborn than a five thousand year old goat. Good luck getting _her_ off your back.'

'Who’s Amy Thomas?' Duncan asked.

'That’s a low blow, Joe Dawson. That’s a very low trick.' Methos sank back against the cushions. Reluctantly, his smile returned. 'Well. Maybe you’re smarter than I thought you were.'

'At your service.'

'We’re getting away from the point here,' Duncan decided. 'I just want to know who you were. Someone obscure... William Thackery?'

Methos looked at him in undisguised disgust. 'I said obscure, not bad.'

'Well—- give me a time-frame. I can guess all day if I have to!'

'Jesus,' Joe muttered. 'Just tell him already, or we’ll be here all night while he shows off his education.'

Methos glared at the room for a while, his chin to his chest and his arms crossed huffily. 'Muh-uh,' he muttered finally.

Duncan leaned in closer. 'Who?'

'Marlowe. Christopher Marlowe.'

'Wait—- Marlowe. As in the man who taught Shakespeare everything. The man who redefined English literature.'

'I guess.'

'You invented blank verse!'

'Aw, I stole it off a Bulgarian merchant passing through.' Methos pushed to his feet and ambled back to the kitchen. Duncan was not fooled, and immediately rose to follow him. 'All that constant rhyming was getting on my last nerve.'

'Walter’s going to shit himself,' he said, delighted. 'I can’t believe you were Marlowe.'

'Walter?' Methos looked over his shoulder at Duncan.

'Long story.' Duncan waved that aside. 'What was it like? The play houses, the plague—- spying on the Catholics—- did you really know Raleigh?'

'What was it like?' Methos leaned against the counter with a julienne slicer in one hand, considering it. 'Well, they’d gotten better at disguising the vomitoriums by then.'

Joe snorted audibly. 'Vomitoriums again. Christ. You’d think a man who’s lived five thousand years would get over the fun-factor of vomit jokes.'

Methos laughed. 'Some things never get old, Joe.'

'You’ve got the sophistication of a five year old.'

'But I get a lot of joy out of life.'

'Hello!' Duncan waved his hands in Methos’s face. 'Marlowe. Give me anything, here!'

Methos shrugged him off. 'It was a strange period of my life, okay? I’d just discovered tobacco, and it could do strange things to you. I wrote a couple of plays, just to supplement my income, and then I got into a rather unfortunate fight wherein I died a little too obviously. That was the end of my career as a writer, and I’m happy to say I’ve avoided putting pen to paper ever since.'

'Are we not counting your Chronicles?' Joe interjected, earning himself a dour glare.

Duncan turned and sprinted for his bookcase, searching for the leather-backed original Victorian printing of _Elizabethan Playwrights_. ' _Dido,_ ' he said, paging through carefully. ' _Tamberlaine. Edward II_. My God. You wrote _Faustus_.'

A far-away look came over Methos’s thin face. It wasn’t often that MacLeod managed to shoe-horn him into a real memory, and he stopped talking until the expression faded, respecting the moment. Methos truly did try to live in the present, and he always seemed a little sad, somehow, when he was goaded into reliving any of his copious, and chequered, past.

'I inspired one of Byron’s works, you know,' Methos told the carrot he was shredding. 'I was always sort of proud of that.' He paused, and frowned. 'Of course he never actually read it.'

Duncan closed the book he held, and left it on the dining room table. 'Well. That’s a good note for your Chronicle,' he offered.

The soft set of Methos’s mouth soured. 'I suppose I can call Amy and repeat the entire conversation. Unless she’s already been in here bugging the entire barge. And Le Blues.' He held up his arms and looked at them in suspicion. 'I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s slipped microchips into my beer.'

Joe was laughing again, and Duncan wished irritably that someone would let him in on the joke. Sometimes it wasn’t really fair—- the two Watchers had their little private jokes that he wasn’t a part of. Whoever this Amy was, though, she sounded like a real witch.

'Thanks for telling us,' Duncan said. 'Really.'

Methos dropped his arms and turned to look at MacLeod with visible amusement. 'Thanks for telling you what?'

'What—- well, anything about you.' His sense of gratitude began to fade into annoyance. 'Half the time I can never tell if you’re pulling my leg, so at least let me enjoy a rare moment of truth.'

One of his delighted little smiles crossed Methos’s face, lighting up the many lines that hid around his eyes and mouth until the right expression came along. 'If I’d known that was all it took to keep you happy, I’d not have wasted the last six years.'

Duncan threw up his arms in exasperation. 'It’s not like I haven’t asked, Methos!'

'Did you then?' Methos affected surprise. 'I guess I wasn’t listening.'

'For the past six—-' Duncan cut himself off when Joe burst into guffaws. He felt his face and neck burning a little, and forced himself to shrug off the comment. Methos was laughing too. 'One of these days I’m going to see that coming,' he muttered.

Methos clapped him on the shoulder, and squeezed lightly. 'Don’t be too hard on yourself, Mac. You’re still so very young.'

'I’m older than Byron,' Duncan retorted, indignant at the implication. As he watched Methos’s face, however, he realised that the tinge of sadness hadn’t quite left the old man’s eyes. The smile that crossed his face again hinted at some ancient heaviness, but it was still a gentle, friendly, smile.

'No,' Methos said. 'You’re not. And I, for one, am glad of it—-even if you are a pain in the ass sometimes.'

They were all quiet for a moment, a little embarrassed. Joe became absorbed in a coffee mug that was probably empty by now, and Duncan examined his ceiling until Methos turned back a limp and much-abused carrot, giving it a few half-hearted swipes with the julienne.

Joe got to his feet with the aid of his cane, and said something about going to the john. When he was finally out of the room containing his two Immortal friends, he let out a sigh of relief.

'Sleep together already,' he muttered.


End file.
